


Voice Through the Smoke

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Blind Character, Gen, Protective Dean Winchester, Styne Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is determined to do right by his kid brother. If Sam needs him, he will always step up. </p><p>Blinded & cursed by a member of the Stynasty, Sam relies on his brother for support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sight for Sore Eyes

Blood was trickling down Sam's throat, from his ear. The eyes were closed tight, teeth bared and clenched against the pain. 

"I hope you don't think we're done," Uriah Styne drawled in his thick Louisiana accent, almost a whispered purr blowing hot into Sam's face. "See, here's what's lovely about this whole thing. You don't talk to me, and I don't let you die. I'm not threatening to kill you, Samuel. Nothing so easy as that. I'm a professional. I'm disciplined. I'm patient. I'm-"

Sam winced as blood spattered all over him. 

"A door nail," Dean finished for him as the body thudded onto the floor next to the head. 

Sam spat blood onto the floor. "Where the hell have you been?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he worked on Sam's bonds. "Reading Penthouse Letters. Where the hell do you think I've been?"

"Dammit, you got Styne in my eyes."

In spite of his attempts at his normal annoyance, he was only too grateful to see his brother. Sam felt himself struggle to stand once the binds were off. 

"Whoa. Easy, Sasquatch," Dean's calm voice soothed. He slung Sam's arm over his shoulder and took on his weight. "Most of your blood is on the floor."

"Dean," Sam groaned as soon as he was upright. 

"Okay. Okay, I got you. Let's get you home."

"Aren't going to ask...what I told him?" His eyes closed. He let his brother lead the way, just let his chin fall to his chest and worried only about holding some of his own weight upright. 

"Sammy, I know what you told him. Nothing. I trust you, man. And I might've told you to just tell him whatever he wants to know, except you know he'd kill you soon as you did. So you did the right thing, held out till I could get to you. You always do."

Pride swirled through Sam's foggy brain as he listened to Dean's praise. Without meaning to, he gradually stopped carrying his own bulk, and then he wasn't aware of anything beyond Dean's gruff voice. No words reached him, but until his brain gave up the fight to keep him conscious, he took comfort in the deep drawling that let him know his brother was still there for him. 

***

"It isn't that simple, Dean," Sam heard as he tried to force his eyes to open. He realized very slowly that there was something covering them. 

"It's never that simple, is it, Cas?" Dean hissed back angrily. 

Castiel was sighing. "I'm sorry, Dean. I don't know what you want me to say."

"Gabriel could create women out of thin air. Raphael exploded you with a snap. Metatron-"

"I'm a seraph, not an archangel, Dean! I'm among the most powerful angels outside of Hell, but I can't fix everything."

"You can alter history! You can't help my brother now? Go back and do it!"

Castiel was nearly done with this conversation. Sam could tell by his voice. "Because that's always worked out so well for us in the past, hasn't it? We risk losing him entirely. I have done what I can reasonably do for now. The family you have angered are well-versed in the art of torture. Nearly so well as yourself. And they also incorporate blood magic into their art. So allow me a few days of research before we try something which might lobotomize your brother!"

Sam attempted to speak up, but his voice came out as a croak. "Do what now?"

"Sammy?" Dean was at his side in an instant. "Sam!"

"Get this thing off me. I can't see."

There was silence on the other side of the obstruction. 

"Dude, I can't lift my arms. Why can't I lift my arms? And why won't you let me see?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "Sam, the man who did this to you, he is dead."

"Yeah. Dean cut off his ugly head. So?"

"So now we do not know how to break this curse he worked."

He frowned. "Wait. Curse? This family is a bunch of mutant surgeons. Carving folks up for parts. They don't play with magic."

This time it was Dean's voice. "They do, Sam. Sometimes. Uriah's branch of the family does. The freaking sadists have learned how to keep the spare parts fresh, and not have to get their own hands dirty during harvesting."

"What's that mean?"

It was Castiel's hand on his arm. "Fortunately there appears to have been some method of anesthesia included in the process, likely to prevent shock. And I've healed your pain for now. So you shouldn't be able to feel-"

"Cas, what the hell are you on about? Why can't I...Am I strapped down?" 

"I'm sorry, man," Dean said in a heavy tone. "Real sorry. Had to. You...Sam, he made you..."

"You've clawed at your own eyes, Sam."

Time stopped, and everything was suddenly cold. There was silence. 

Then Sam's hoarse rasp spoke again, and in a tone which did not leave anything open for debate. "You let me up right now, or so help me, I will kill you both."

Dean sighed. His calloused hands were working at Sam's wrists. "Sammy, if you try to hurt yourself, I gotta lock you down again. Okay?"

Sam lifted himself to sitting. His head was swimming. Blood loss. Had to be. His hands went toward his face, but he stilled as a flash of horrible memory rushed him. "Shit," he breathed. He made himself touch his flesh through the blindfold gently, then lifted it to feel the damage beneath. 

Immediately, he curled off the bed and vomited everything in his stomach.

"Cas!" Dean shrieked as he dove for his brother. 

He could feel Castiel's healing grace punch through him, but it was like a wave of cool water. It made him feel better but did not seem to address the damage, even the nausea.

"The hell!" he sobbed into Dean's arms. "I did this! I did this! Blinded myself! Dean! Dean!" He was screaming now. He could not remember a time when he felt so afraid. His life was one long adrenaline rush, trauma after trauma, but this brought it all to an ear splitting fever pitch. All he could do was scream for his brother and hope he could be heard over the panic and pain surrounding him. 

"I got you, Sammy. I got you. I'm going to fix this. That's my job, right? Look out for my pain in the ass kid brother. I got you."

There was another crackle of cool energy, and Sam slipped into sleep again. 

Dean had him. Dean had him. It would be okay. Dean had him...

***


	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's anger explodes, and he lashes out at the only one he can hurt.

Guilt had wrapped itself around Dean's throat, making it harder to breathe every minute he watched his brother struggle.

He had done this. He had let this happen.

Sam shook off Dean's hand when he tried to reach for him. "Get away."

"I'm just trying to-"

"You want to help? Leave me alone!"

He tried to swallow, and choked instead. Castiel had assured him that the magic which had caused Sam to hurt himself had been weakened by his Grace, so that Sam's will could now prevent any further damage. But two things yet remained, and each day that passed, it seemed less and less likely Sam would be cured of them. First was his blindness. Castiel had reconstructed his eyes, and the nerves to his brain, but the sight had not returned, and the angel had simply sighed in defeat when asked if it eventually would.

The second part, if it were possible, bothered Dean even more.

"He may always have the inclination, the craving, to hurt himself. Until he adapts emotionally, Dean, you will need to keep careful vigil."

Dean had never needed to be told to watch over Sam, not in his whole life.

But today, he was exhausted. Every word Sam spat at him reminded him of staring up at Lucifer's ice cold rage and feeling his body breaking under his brother's fists, and straining to see Sam in there somewhere. Somewhere trapped inside that enormous body which was now just a vessel, there was a heartsick and afraid little boy Dean had pulled from a fire two decades before, only to watch him try to dive into one now. No matter the pain Lucifer wrought on his body. So long as he could speak, he would continue to assure Sam he was there, always there, that he would never be alone if Dean still had strength in him. "Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you."

Dean was desperately trying to do the same now, waiting with a broken heart to hear the words, "It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him."

Instead, this time, he kept hearing, “Get away from me. Leave me alone.” And every syllable tightened the hand of guilt around his throat.

“I’m not going to leave you alone, Sammy. You know I can’t.”

His brother whirled on him angrily, glassy eyes glaring at nothing. “Can’t leave me alone? Can’t? I’ve always been alone! Don’t you dare say that to me. You know how many times I’ve needed someone-needed my brother!-and you weren’t there?”

One moment, Dean was grateful Sam could not see the flinch and the tears forming in his own perfectly good eyes, and the next instant, he felt like utter trash for even thinking that. “I never meant-“

“You think this is any different from all those times when I was growing up and you and Dad were checked out? When I was in a new place and scared, and you two dropped me off at a public library, told me the motel is that way, practice your Latin and don’t lose your key, and then roared on down the road? You think this is any different from having absolutely no one at Stanford when things got hard? Working my ass off, and you two acting like you’re doing me a favor by staying out of my life?”

Dean’s lips parted, and he sucked in his breath. Stanford had not come up in a very long time. And this was a wound he had never known had been inflicted, let alone had the opportunity to apologize for. “We were letting you…Dad was angry, but…He checked in on you, we both did, and we were leaving you alone. I didn’t think you wanted-“

“What?” Sam shouted. He felt his way to his bed and sat hard on it, continuing to stare ahead of him in a way that made Dean a little sick. “What, I didn’t want family? After twenty years of hearing that family was everything, that nothing came before family, just because I wanted to get an education, you think I didn’t want a brother anymore? What other kid has to make that choice? Because that’s what I was, Dean! A kid! And I was told I could be educated or I could be loved.”

It felt as though Sam had punched him directly in the throat. He drew his breath in just to assure himself he still could. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”

“The minute you lost Dad, when Dad decided you were slowing him down, you came flying back into my life like a Hell hound off his leash for the first time!”

This flinch was violent, and Dean sank to the chair next to Sam’s desk. In all the years they had ridden together, that might have been the most painful few words Sam had ever inflicted upon him. It was the perfect combination of every nasty monster chewing up his own heart from the inside. He knew Sam was lashing out, would probably regret these words later, but Dean could never burn them out of his memory.

Every word was true. John Winchester had never been lost, not a day in his life. John had chosen to leave Dean. Their father had screamed and pleaded for Sam to stay, and then he had just walked away from Dean. He had waited for Dean to take a solo hunt, then never met him at their rendezvous. Dean had been frantic that the man was hurt somewhere, terrified something had his father in its claws. But in the end, it had been John’s choice to walk away. He had found his lead on Azazel, and nothing was going to slow him down, certainly not his fumbling, cocky older son. It had been a grievous loss when Sam had left them for school. But Dean…Dean did not even warrant a phone call goodbye.

Off his leash for the first time. Dean could hunt alone. He could fight, could kill evil things. But when faced with John dropping his chain, he had been lost completely. There was always a meet-up after the hunt. Always. Debrief over drinks, decide on the next job. Without John to direct him, to give him orders, he had raced to Sam.

Hell hound. Because wasn’t that what Dean was? A creature of Hell. Perhaps he hadn’t been back then, but he was always destined to be. Sam was the one with the demon blood, but Dean did not have the excuse of being an infant when he became part-monster. Dean was a hunter, and he knew what hunters were supposed to do with evil, and yet when Castiel had found him torturing souls manifested into blood and gore on a rack, he had resisted. Resisted an angel’s rescue! What kind of monster liked his work in Hell’s torture chambers so well that he tried to shrug off an angel’s embrace? Castiel had been forced to grab him around his chest from behind, searing his hand onto one of his shoulders in his urgency. It was not his real shoulder, of course, though the brand was transferred to his flesh. But he would forever be ashamed that Castiel had to grip him in that way, the exact way he had when restraining him as a demon. Demon. Hell hound off his chain. Dean was every monster they had ever encountered, but worse, because he was a hunter, and he knew better. He was John Winchester’s son, and he knew better, but he had given in to the evil anyway.

And worst of all, he had failed Sam. He’d gone to Stanford because Dean needed Sam, not because Sam needed him.

“I’d been at school, on my own, nobody to help me, nobody to even talk to-I couldn’t even tell anyone anything about me, and can you imagine what it was like trying to pretend like it didn’t bother me when people asked innocuous questions like where I’m from or where I’m going on my holiday breaks. You know that’s how Jess and I got together? Because I had no family for Thanksgiving one year, and I went to her place. I had no freaking family, Dean! Not until Dad cut you out just like he had done to me. Told all my life family is the only thing that matters, and then I had nothing, but that wasn’t what brought you, was it? No, it was because you needed Dad! Not because you cared anything about me having family, but because you needed it for yourself!”

Dean wanted to hit him. He felt his whole body tightening, straining to leap from the chair and throw himself at his brother, to make him stop saying these horrible things.

But Sam deserved the chance to say it, and Dean deserved to have to hear it. So he stayed planted in the seat and let his jagged breathing calm as well as he could.

Thanksgiving. That was part of that weak Heaven his brother had created for himself. Thanksgiving. Dean’s heart ached.

“So don’t tell me this is any different.”

“Sammy, I don’t mean to…Sam, I wasn’t much better than a kid then too.” It felt as though he were betraying his brother by defending himself. But at last, he could not help it. Especially if Sam was equating those experiences, when he felt alone, when Dean had failed, to their current circumstances, when he had no intention of leaving him to deal with this on his own…

To his surprise, Sam nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. And more sheltered than I was.”

This stopped Dean in confusion. “I-what?”

“More sheltered. Less experienced.”

“What the hell are you even-“

Sam didn’t need his vision to give him angry puppy dog eyes. It was killing his big brother, and they weren’t even actually aimed at him. “Dean, I was on my own for years! You ran a few solo hunts, big deal! I had no one! And you’re right. You were a kid. You were a freaking child, that’s what you were! Sold your soul because you said you couldn’t let me die.”

Tears exploded past his defenses, and streamed down his face. “God dammit, Sammy, we’ve done this talk!”

“But that wasn’t it. You couldn’t be alone. And then I spent four months with no family because of that! Because you couldn’t stand to go a week without me, I went four months without anyone. Can’t leave me alone now, but back then? Then you strut out of the ground like nothing happened, like that whole time never freaking happened to me, and you expect to pick up where you left off, and then you get pissed that I’ve fallen into something I can’t get myself out of. So what do you do? You lock me in at Bobby’s.”

Dean’s eyes closed. It was too late to punch his brother and just be angry. Sam was seething in a way he hadn’t since those days before Lucifer and the pit, and Dean had to let it run its course. For the first time, he didn’t need to worry about Sam being so angry he would take off. Four days into a world without image was not enough for Sam to be able to cope on his own, and they both knew it. For the first time, Sam was stuck.

It was no wonder he was remembering being trapped.

“That panic room? Can you even imagine-Do you have any idea the nightmares I still have about that room? Can’t leave me alone? Are you damaged? That’s what you do, Dean! Don’t you freaking tell me you can’t leave me alone! Alone,” Sam choked, tears mirroring Dean’s flooding his face, “alone in the panic room, alone in the damn pit! Alone with Lucifer in my head in a white room while I waited for my goddamn organs to fail. Alone when your ass got sent to Purgatory, and then…then when I get you back, you’re so goddamn pissed at me…Pissed at me for…” Sam was sliding down from the bed to the floor, and Dean could only stare at him. “Pissed at me for being as lost as you were when Dad left, but…but not having anybody to go to the way you did. No Bobby. No brother. And you were so angry…Dean, I didn’t know what to do. I needed you!”

It was like Sam knew exactly what words to use to carve out his heart in the most painful, most meticulous, merciless way.

“So I did what I could to turn things around, to redeem myself. I couldn’t bear you being angry with me, and thinking you couldn’t trust me, couldn’t count on me to…So I took on the trials. To prove myself to you. It was the only thing I could do to…so I wouldn’t be alone again. And I failed. I would have done it, Dean! And yet again, you! You couldn’t be alone! Not me. You! You shut down the trials, you pulled me back from death, from the only peace I had a chance for!”

Green eyes widened. “Sammy, that’s not fair!”

“No!” his brother shouted. “What’s not fair is you telling me now that you can’t leave me alone! You take on the Mark, you get yourself killed, you leave for months with Crowley, I finally get you back, and you do everything you can to give up!”

The spark of anger was back. “No, you don’t,” Dean hissed. “No, I did not give up. You will never know how hard it was to keep fighting that battle. That Mark is as old as the first human born on the planet. If you don’t think I had to give everything to fighting against that…You will never know how much easier it would have been to just let it take me. It’s because I didn’t want to leave you alone that I fought so hard, jackass! If it were just me? I’d have let Cas put me in a freaking coma or fly me into the pit to hang with Luci and Mike, or anything that would have kept me from hurting people. Don’t you tell me I have ever chosen to leave you alone.”

“Then choose it now!” Sam screamed. “Leave me the hell alone!”

Dean staggered to his feet. “Sam, I need air. And whiskey. I’m coming back here, and if I find the door locked, I’m picking it. If I can’t pick it, I’ll break it down. So you may as well leave it open. I’m going to bring you some food I know you won’t eat, and I’m going to bring you sleep pills I know you won’t take, and I am going to sit here, because I can’t be sure yet that you’re not going to take another pound of flesh out of my goddamn kid brother! So when I get back, you can take as many shots at me as you want, you can hit me if you’re angry, and you can shout at me about all the thousands of ways I’ve fucked up over the course of our lives, but I am not leaving you alone if it means you might hurt yourself. Hurt me if that’s what you need to do. Just give me five minutes, and then you’ll get your punching bag back.”

Sam let out an angry snarl that did not even sound human.

The older man took a breath. “Cas, he’s all yours, man. I’m taking five.” He waited to hear the flurry of wings before slamming the door behind him. He gasped in air, and fought against nausea. He ran a shaking hand down his face.

How long could they keep this up? If Sam didn’t recover his sight, what was going to happen to them? A hunter in the dark…A hunter who could not be trusted not to turn a knife on himself…

Dean forced himself to move. Five minutes to take care of his own needs, to get Sam food and sleep medication, and to let a drink burn down his throat. He would not leave Sam for longer than five minutes, so he had no time to waste.


	3. More Harm Than Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel speaks to Sam about how the brothers are treating one another.

Castiel licked his lips and inched toward Sam. “Can I…assist you in some way, Sam?”

“I want to be left alone, Cas!”

The angel nodded awkwardly. “I know you do. But we can’t. Not yet. Are you still…You still have the desire to hurt yourself, don’t you?”

“I have the desire to hurt you and Dean!”

Castiel nodded sadly. “I know you do,” he said again. “Sam, I’m so sorry I could not bring back your sight. And…do you understand why I am hesitant to comply with Dean’s request for time alteration?”

Sam pushed tears from his eyes and gave a bitter laugh, stumbling back onto the bed again. “Yeah. Dean doesn’t see how stupid that is. As if you could go back in time every time something goes the way you don’t want it to.”

He sighed. “It isn’t just that, Sam. This curse…Blood magic is extremely powerful. I can’t know for sure how this curse will react if we attempt to prevent it from finding its target. I’m just afraid…” He cleared his throat and shrugged helplessly. “I’m just afraid,” he finished.

The man on the bed allowed a weariness to soften his features. “I know, Cas. You’d do whatever you could. You understand all that better than we do. You said you worried that preventing my curse might result in someone else being hurt. Someone innocent. You know that’s all you ever need to say to me.”

“I know. And that bothers me a great deal, Sam. My concern is that the Stynes seem to have thought of such a thing, and worked extra failsafes into their blood magic. As far as I can tell, its only purpose was to be spiteful. Surely it cannot matter to them if their victim is cured, since they never expected a victim to escape them in the first place. It is simply wicked to…Blood magic can feel someone attempting to dispel it. If I try to-“

“I get it, Cas. Stop apologizing. I know you’ll do it if you feel like it’ll work and not hurt anybody else.”

Castiel knew better than to step between the Winchesters regardless of the situation, but he could not help but toe in now. “Sam, it seems that you are quick to be forgiving of my futility, but are quite angry with Dean.”

Sam’s sightless eyes glared in his direction. “Don’t go there, Cas.”

Again, he knew better. Again, he pressed forward. “Your brother has not slept in two nights. Two nights ago, I forced him to sleep, and watched over you myself. He has not eaten except when you eat, which you seem to be refusing to do. I cannot understand why you seem to blame Dean for your current situation, and yet are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt that I have tried everything I can.”

“Because Dean killed the only guy who could have reversed this.” But even this sounded weak.

“And saved your life,” Castiel said dryly. He did not believe this was the real reason. Sam was not stupid. Dean had been consumed with guilt over not keeping the Styne monster alive, but Sam knew that was ridiculous. Dean had no way of knowing blood magic was at play here.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “And saved my life, for what that’s worth.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I have never known either of you to sulk before, Sam.”

The hunter’s mouth dropped open. From the corner of his vision, he could see Dean at the door, silent and blinking, awaiting Sam’s response. “Sulking! Cas, you have no idea-“

“If you’re about to say I don’t know what it feels like, I’d ask that you refrain. Sam, I’ve been an entirely different species. I’ve lost my Father, my wings, my grace, my home, my family, my friends, my pride and my life, multiple times. Please find a different way to express why you have the right to make Dean feel as though he is at fault for this. Saying I don’t know what this feels like is hardly your best tactic.” Castiel knew he was being harsh. Sam had been without sight, and on this emotional precipice, for just days, and had every reason to be frightened and angry. But it bothered him that Sam was pushing away the man who desperately wanted to comfort him. It was not fair, nor was it healthy, to either of the brothers for Sam to continue to deny Dean the prerogative of an older brother trying to support his best friend. Harsh or not, Sam needed to be jolted out of his anger, and accept Dean’s help and love, before there was any more damage done between them. “It isn’t your fault, Sam,” Castiel soothed after a moment of silence. “But you know it isn’t Dean’s either. You must let him care for you, or it will break you both.”

Dean’s tear-streaked face at the door was filled with desperation as they awaited Sam’s reply. His lips trembled. Castiel could feel his exhaustion from across the room, just as keenly as he could feel Sam’s. His hands held a tray with food and water and pills. He stared down at it as the silence drew out too long.

“Sam?” Castiel prompted gently.

“It isn’t Dean’s fault,” Sam whispered hoarsely. “You and I both know that. If anything, I’m the one who got myself caught in the first place. I’m just…If this doesn’t get better? Cas, he’s going to have to give up everything for me, or leave me. And I know he won’t leave me. And I-I don’t want him to leave me. But he’s going to find himself losing everything that’s ever made him feel good about himself, hunting, helping people. He’s going to lose it all because of me. Because I can’t be left alone.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say. Even right this minute, I can feel my hands wanting to claw at my skin. I want a knife, and I want to use it on me. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to fight against that. So Dean needs to get out, because that’s going to kill him, seeing me hurt myself like I want to. When I get too weak, it’s going to kill him. So it’s better he thinks I’m angry, that I hate him and want him to go, than for him to stay here and watch what I feel coming. When he’s gone, when I’ve pushed him out far enough that he runs, I’ll be free to do whatever I need to. As long as he’s here, I…I can’t give in to it. Better he thought leaving me was my idea than let him blame himself for getting out. He’ll never leave just because it’s too hard for him. He’d rather lose everything. But if I convince him I don’t want him…If I make him feel like he’s hurting me by staying…” Tears streamed unceasingly down Sam’s face, and he curled his knees against his chest. “Maybe he’ll go, and I won’t be able to hurt him anymore.”

Castiel watched the older human’s face throughout this speech, thought maybe he could hear the heart breaking. “You’re a selfless man, Sam. But you’re wrong. And I’m not going to let you push away your only family just so you can be free to hurt yourself in peace. That’s wrong, and I won’t let you. And if you think Dean will allow you to push him out while you need him, you haven’t noticed that your brother has grown into a stronger man than you’ve ever known. When he fought against that Mark, it was for you. He hurt you in the process, and he knew that, but he refused to let you down. He would rather see you angry with him than see that he had disappointed you, let you down. Even as a demon, part of him was trying to get as far from you as possible so you couldn’t see what he’d become, so he wouldn’t hurt you. And when he tried to kill you? His sickness made him think death would spare you from the responsibility of saving him. If you think you’re saving Dean by making him believe you can’t love him, you are as seriously misguided as he was.”

Sam sobbed painfully. “I’m so sorry,” he wept. “Cas, I’m so sorry.”

The angel watched Dean’s eyes roll heavenward and close, and a silent breath of relief emitted from him. Castiel smiled sadly. “When he comes in, eat what he offers you. I promise it will make you both feel better. You don’t even have to say anything. Just eat what he’s made for you.”

The younger man nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you, Cas. For everything, thank you.”

Castiel put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You are a good man, Sam. And your brother is unceasingly proud of you. He is coming in now, so I’ll go.”

Dean cleared his throat on cue, and pushed the door closed.

Sam gripped Castiel’s hand for a moment, then nodded again. “Thank you, Cas,” he whispered one last time, then turned to direct his words toward his brother. “What’s to eat?”


	4. Sam at His Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers figure out how to adjust and still contribute.

The strange part of this whole, horrible situation was that, once Sam had decided to keep fighting the curse instead of Dean, the brothers enjoyed one another's company better than they had in years. There were times when Sam was maudlin or Dean was snippy due to the fatigue, but without hunting and research, they were forced to come up with new means of entertaining themselves. 

Castiel had begun reading to Sam during his shifts, while Dean slept. Sam was amused by the angel's confused commentary or factual corrections. Sam slept less than his brother for the first time in their lives-hallucinations of Lucifer and soullessness aside-and often awoke with a strong urge to hurt himself. So Castiel was sure to be there with a book as soon as Sam stirred. 

The rest of the days went by, one bleeding into another. Sam never truly apologized to Dean, but he had stopped resisting his help, and that was all the older man needed. 

Dean tried to offer a new form of distraction every day. He lay awake in his bunk thinking of all the things which could make Sam smile, and in the morning, he suggested one. Some days, Sam declined. But others, he smiled and nodded. Riding through the mountains in the Impala with the windows down and the radio up was a favorite for them both. Somehow, it provided enough sensory fulfillment that Sam momentarily felt relief from the nagging itching coming from under his skin. Seeing Sam lean into the breeze, with his sunglasses on, it seemed to Dean as if everything were just as it had always been. 

Sam to his right. His Baby taking care of them. It was the way things were supposed to be. 

Then there was the talking. Dean had not been thrilled about this in the beginning, but it was less soul-searching confessional and more storytelling that evolved. He heard more stories of Sam's time at college, and while Dean was in Hell, and even time spent without a soul. They steered away from rough emotional memories, and found that much of it made for good conversation. Dean told Sam about his time with Lisa and Ben, something he thought he would never be able to talk about, and it eased some of the hurt into nostalgia. He told stories of time spent hunting alone before John had gone missing, about how he and Cassie had gotten together, about Purgatory, about djinn dreams and missed opportunities. 

They debated the merits and dangers inherent in beginning relations with Jo, Pamela and Bela. It seemed sacrilegious to talk this way at first, but after a time, they found it to be therapeutic, cathartic. Sam admitted he had thought of Sarah many times through the years, and Dean confessed that he would have liked more time with Anna, maybe could have helped her more. 

They reviewed old cases, mostly the cut and dry, black and white ones, the ones where the memories were not tainted by guilt. They laughed at their excitement over their first real demon case, and compared that demon with so many others they had encountered. Most demons were like every other. But a few were unique, and that one certainly had been. Sam revealed that he had tried to name the dog he left with Amelia "Christo" instead of Riot, because it seemed practical. Dean had nearly fallen over laughing at that. 

Other days, Dean gave Sam humorous commentary on the sports on television, and watched the movies they had seen a thousand times in every motel room they had ever been in. They watched The Godfather, and each recited every line in unison with the characters, in their best accents. This led to popcorn throwing, and at one point, the angel had appeared just in time to receive a cushion to the head. 

Dean did not bother listening to or reading the news. He was unable to take a hunt now, and he found that he wasn't sorry to be on a hiatus, which he and Sam had always jokingly referred to as "hellatus" in the past, because any break in their cases drove them both up the wall. This time was different. Dean was not sure if he was just getting older or if it was the exhaustion from carrying the Mark, but it was nice to pretend the world outside the bunker didn't exist for a while. 

It was nice to bond with Sam again, and most of all, it was nice to be what he had been all his life, even before he was a hunter. Sammy's big brother. 

Weeks turned into months, and the urge to hurt himself faded away slowly, but it did fade. Dean had done it. With the help of their angel, he had kept Sam safe, from the rest of the world, and from himself. 

Sam had accepted that he would never see again, but he had found ways to contribute, to connect with his old life. From the bunker, the two of them dispatched hunter friends on possible cases, and soon everyone in the network was calling them for assistance when they got into trouble on the job. Even some who felt the Winchester boys were the trouble themselves learned to contact them for help with lore or figuring out what they were dealing with. 

"I think," Dean said one day as Sam was hanging up the phone, "Bobby would be proud of where we are now."

Sam accepted the drink that was offered him. "Maybe," he agreed. "Bobby was everyone's first call back in the day. Imagine him holed up in the library of the Men of Letters, complete with all his books and everything the Campbells ever collected. He'd never leave."

Dean nodded slowly and stared at his own drink. "How you feeling?"

Sam's face softened. "Good. I'm really good, Dean. I know it's crazy, but...I don't mind as much as I did. The equipment you and Cas found for my computer means I don't have to stop researching and recording new lore. And some of those hunters would be dead now if we hadn't answered their calls. Casey actually thought that demon was a vengeful spirit, by the way. He would have been completely unprepared."

"Casey's an idiot. But Dad would appreciate you keeping him alive. He ran with his daddy for a while."

"Right. I mean, we're still doing what we do, right? Phone rings, and we're able to help people. Our people. And, you know, I haven't been thrown into a wall for months now."

"Or had to pop my shoulder back into place."

"Right. There's something to be said for that. I don't know, man. I'm not saying if Castiel suddenly appeared with a clue to getting my sight back that I wouldn't take it. But that isn't going to happen. And I'm really okay with it." He took a breath. "But if you're itching to get out of here, I get it. Go take a solo if you want. I don't mind."

Dean smiled at him. "I might," he responded. "I should keep sharp. But I'm not in a hurry to jump back in the game yet. For now, let's just see what happens. Long as we're doing some good, I'm okay with cooking a hot meal three times a day."

"Or five." 

He punched his brother's shoulder, eliciting a laugh. "Next week, maybe I'll be climbing the walls. For now, let's just be Men of Letters."

"Yours are more of the Penthouse variety."

He grinned. "I'm a Legacy, baby. I know where to find the lore I want."

"Well, don't forget to keep up with your credit card fraud and pool hustling on the side. You gotta keep the bunker stocked if we're going to be here indefinitely."

For some reason, this made Dean happy. "Yeah. I can do that." He began to walk out of the room with his glass. 

"Dean?"

"Yeah, man."

"Thank you. For not giving up on me."

Dean smiled softly. "Never, little brother."

Sam nodded and went back to his work. Dean watched him for a moment, and then disappeared into the garage to visit his Baby.


End file.
